Shadows of Allegiance

Prologue: Three Years Later

The sun cast long, golden rays over The House, its towering walls and pristine courtyards alive with the rhythm of controlled precision. Everywhere, laborers bustled with purpose, maids moved like synchronized dancers, and guards stood rigid at their posts. The House had grown in the past three years, and so had its residents.

In the east wing, Harry stood by the expansive window of his chambers, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the grounds below. His emerald eyes, sharper now than they'd been three years ago, lingered on the figures moving with purpose across the courtyard. His voice was calm, almost reflective, as he addressed Connor, his butler, who was arranging breakfast on a nearby table.

"They've come a long way," Harry said softly, his gaze focused on the laborers below. "Ron, especially."

Connor straightened, his movements fluid as he placed a steaming teapot beside the polished silverware. His uniform was immaculate, his demeanor poised. "Indeed, Master Harry. He's earned the respect of both his peers and his overseers. Master Jacob speaks highly of him."

Harry's lips twitched in a faint smile. "I'd expect nothing less. Ron was never one to shy away from hard work, even if he fought against it at first."

There was a knock at the door. Connor moved swiftly to answer, opening it to reveal Hermione. Dressed in the elegant uniform of a senior maid, her three pins gleamed on her collar—a mark of her dedication and progress. She held a clipboard tightly, her expression composed but her eyes alight with determination.

"Good morning, Master Harry," Hermione said, her voice steady.

Harry turned from the window, his expression softening slightly. "Hermione. Come in."

She stepped inside, sparing a brief nod to Connor before addressing Harry. "Mistress Isabell asked me to deliver the weekly inventory reports from the front of the house. There's also a note about the new recruits arriving later today."

Harry took the clipboard from her, skimming its contents. "Everything seems to be in order. And the recruits?"

Hermione hesitated briefly before replying. "I understand that one of them has a... reputation for being difficult. Mistress Isabell has already instructed me to prepare for potential disruptions."

Harry handed the clipboard back, his expression unreadable. "We'll manage them. We always do."

Connor cleared his throat softly. "Shall I pour the tea, Master Harry?"

"Please," Harry replied, gesturing to the table.

Hermione lingered for a moment, her gaze flickering between Harry and the neatly arranged breakfast. "You've changed, Harry," she said finally, her tone almost wistful.

He paused, glancing at her. "Change is inevitable here, Hermione. You know that better than anyone."

A brief silence fell between them, broken only by the soft clink of Connor pouring tea. Hermione straightened, her professional demeanor returning. "I'll report back to Mistress Isabell," she said with a nod.

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry said, his voice firm but not unkind.

As she left, Harry sat down at the table, the aroma of freshly brewed tea filling the room. Connor placed the cup before him, standing at attention as Harry took a thoughtful sip.

"She's done well," Harry remarked after a moment.

"She has," Connor agreed. "The three pins are a rare achievement. Mistress Isabell has mentioned her potential for further advancement."

Harry set the cup down and leaned back in his chair. "And Ron?"

Connor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "He's... different. The work has shaped him, hardened him in some ways, but he remains loyal. It's remarkable how he's earned his place among the laborers."

A shadow crossed Harry's face, but it passed quickly. "Loyalty. It's the cornerstone of everything here." He stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes. "We'll see how well it holds, won't we, Connor?"

"As always, Master Harry."

Harry stepped toward the door, his movements deliberate, his posture commanding. The House thrived on routine, structure, and control. And as its Master, Harry Potter was at its heart—a heart that beat with unyielding precision.

The day was just beginning, and The House had no room for anything less than perfection.